Eight years since I first became a father. Eight years since the most intense day of my life. A day of firsts. My son was born, and alongside him, I was born too, as a father. Some people say their university years were the best of their lives. Mine were as enjoyable as they could have been, but these past eight years with the kids have been, by far, the most fulfilling (and exhausting) of my life.

I purposely refrain from calling them “happy” years. I am not quite sure what happiness means. After all, I live with a constant drive for more, coupled with guilt for anything even remotely pleasurable. Strange, considering that I didn’t grow up in a religious household, so the notorious Christian guilt shouldn’t apply to me. Still, I can confidently say that the feelings I’ve experienced during these eight years of fatherhood have been of unparalleled intensity.

So let’s not focus on happiness. Let’s settle instead on contentment and intensity. Happiness feels foreign, American even, something found in fleeting moments: a hug, an orgasm, a delicious meal paired with the right wine, a favourite author releasing another book. These are bursts of joy, yet the word itself cannot capture a state of being shaped by mostly positive emotions that span nearly a decade.

Alongside the highs, I also experienced the deepest worries, often irrational, sometimes absurd. I don’t mean the grown-up kind, like my livelihood depending on declining UN funding; I mean the other kind: Johnny getting a headache and me imagining all sorts of life-threatening conditions; some brat breaking his pencil and me fearing he’s been bullied; Despina not recognising her name on the school notice board and me worrying about developmental milestones; Johnny’s vegan diet rendering him slightly below the average height-to-weight ratio and me wondering if he is malnourished. Fatherhood has taught me that anxiety isn’t cured by reason—it simply changes subject.

Eight years ago, I was a different person. Time has been taken away from me, but focus has also been given. Focus not just to complete tasks, but to also see clearly what and who truly matter. These days, even my distractions have purpose.

Maintaining a link to my past self is not always straightforward; I sometimes feel alienated from whom I used to be. As I am looking for some resemblance to that image of myself—to the person who was daydreaming, who was strong-headed and politically resolute, interested more in books and less in people—I realise that he is gone for good. He has been replaced by someone who can put on different faces depending on the audience. Someone who now controls his feelings, is diplomatic, and refrains from showing too much of himself. Sometimes, though, I notice Johnny’s actions and reactions, and I get flashbacks—the little boy looks like me, occasionally behaves like me, yet, thankfully, he is also so much better than me.

Our resemblance is sometimes uncanny. His eyes, his demeanor, his mannerisms—I see clear manifestations of my behaviours, and not only the positive ones. I worry. I am scared that he might also become unable to experience positive feelings without reservations; that he may also feel that he has to perform in order to please; that he may end up carrying a burden of responsibility incompatible with his age. I also see on him some of my better features, which we shall not list here. But also, I see him having other character traits, which both Sunshine and I are lacking—the dude is more empathetic than us, he is certainly more social than both of us, and, for him, socialising does not take an emotional toll. He is also athletic, which none of us were growing up.

Having the privilege of raising him is not only about seeing myself in him, but also about learning myself through him. As I see him growing up and taking risks, I realise that I’ve gradually become more guarded, with my primary task, my main responsibility being to protect him. The image of the “guardian” is so alien to me, yet it established itself so effortlessly and so completely. Could it be that self-control is yet another barrier to experiencing joy? Eight years on, I’m still learning—to be less of a guardian and more of a father.

This is part of a series of entries titled Fatherhood Diaries where I record thoughts on life as a new dad. Click here for all the Fatherhood Diaries.